


Salad Bowls and Low-Fat Milk

by thegrumblingirl



Series: Shards of Glass [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Undercover as a Couple, this is such a terrible idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrumblingirl/pseuds/thegrumblingirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris sighed. “Could we have five minutes in private?” He indicated Derek next to him with a nod of his head, but kept his eyes on Scott. The Alpha nodded and got up, with the rest of the pack slowly following him out of the room. Only Peter lingered for a moment.</p><p>“You know, we could always hire an escort to —”</p><p>“Peter, oh my god!” Stiles yelled from the hallway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where do we start?

**Author's Note:**

> And there it is, the continuation of _The Perfect Fit_. Derek and Chris go undercover as a couple. It's suburbia, the sun is shining. Chris is wearing a henley and forgot how to deal with buttons again. Derek is conflicted.
> 
> What could possibly go wrong?
> 
> This story is based on a tag ramble (see notes on _The Perfect Fit_ ) and somehow made itself comfortable in my brain. It won't leave. Help.

Chris sighed. “Could we have five minutes in private?” He indicated Derek next to him with a nod of his head, but kept his eyes on Scott. The Alpha nodded and got up, with the rest of the pack slowly following him out of the room. Only Peter lingered for a moment.

“You know, we could always hire an escort to —”

“Peter, oh my god!” Stiles yelled from the hallway.

Peter shrugged. “Fine.” Winking at the two bedraggled figures on the sofa, Peter swaggered over to Stiles, who was now leaning around the doorjamb and glaring at him.

“Dude, no,” was all Stiles said before Peter could say anything for himself, then waited until the ‘elder Hale,’ as Peter just _loved_ being called, had passed him and closed the door behind them.

Finally left alone, Chris shot up from the cushions as if stung by a pixie. He paced a few metres, turned when he reached the window, back to the sofa, turned again, back to the window. For at least five minutes, neither of them said anything — this was as much down to them being lost in their own thoughts and to an almost reflexive agreement not to say anything to discourage the crowd outside from eavesdropping, hoping they’d get bored and leave it. Eventually, Derek stopped Chris’ pacing with an outstretched hand when he came back to the couch in his pacing.

“Chris, just… come sit back down. We have to talk about this anyway.”

“Which bit?” Chris wished he didn’t sound quite so petulant, but there it was. Derek sighed, and Chris immediately felt guilty. He walked back round and set next to him. “I’m sorry. I just… I can’t… _imagine_ …” They both knew the logical conclusion of that sentence was ‘to live with anyone but Victoria,’ but Chris refused to let his wife’s memory be a pawn in the games of the living. It didn’t matter what he could imagine, only what was fucking happening. And this was, apparently.

“It’s not going to be easy. But if we are the only chance the pack has,” Derek ventured, “then I guess we should do our part.”

Chris nodded. “I guess we should.”

Again, silence fell.

“We’re going to need a cover story.” Chris was reasonably sure he looked as clueless as he felt.

“Let Stiles worry about that, he’s probably got one figured out already.”

“I’m not sure if I should find that relieving or just worrying.”

“The whole pack worries about Stiles.”

“Fair enough.”

“Chris...”

“Yeah?”

“If we’re… we’ll have to...”

“I know. Jesus Christ, I know.”

* * *

“Are you coming back to the apartment?” Isaac asked Chris after the pack meeting had wrapped up and the most pressing arrangements had been made.

Chris sighed. He wanted privacy now more than ever, wanted to go to bed and sleep and not think about any of this. Wanted to be as far away from Derek as possible, if just for the sake of his own sanity, as a short reprieve, but pushing it away would only make it harder. “Not yet, I’ll stay for a while. Do you need the car?”

“No, it’s ok, I’m going with Scott and Kira.” Isaac lowered his head for a moment, then looked back up at Chris in a well-familiar gesture. “I’m sorry about… I didn’t mean to make it sound so… banal.”

Chris shrugged, but then smiled. “Isn’t it, though?”

Isaac raised a brow. “If that’s what you say,” he responded quietly before turning and joining Scott, Lydia, and Kira at the door, where Peter was currently arguing with Stiles about how exactly the estate agent should be persuaded to just let them use the house for the length of the operation, free of charge. Chris didn’t bother to try and catch the hissed words that were floating past him, but he supposed the beauty of it was that he wouldn’t have been able to tell which of the two of them actually had the ideas involving the most bloodshed.

Once all of them had left — even Peter, for destinations unknown — Chris turned to Derek standing at the window. They had ordered in earlier, enough to feed a garrison of humans — so, just enough to appease the growling stomachs of adolescent Betas and their puppy of an Alpha. Derek and Chris had only picked at their food, mostly listening to Stiles apprising them of their ‘crazy undercover couple cover story’ around mouthfuls of pizza and cheese sticks. But now that the reality of the situation was sinking in, Chris’ body demanded sustenance.

“Leftovers?” he asked the room in general. Derek answered by leading the way to the kitchen. Together, they scoured the remaining boxes for anything that hadn’t been finished and piled it onto plates with their own portions. Five minutes later, they were back on the sofa, microwaved pizza and pickings of cheese sticks and curly fries in front of them.

“I cannot believe we let them eat that,” Derek eyed the food with some sort of self-reproach that had Chris smiling at the obvious responsibility Derek felt for the pack even though he wasn’t their Alpha anymore, and despite not even being the eldest Beta.

“My mother drilled proper cooking into me from early on,” Chris said around a bite of pizza. “Probably much like your parents did.”

If Derek was surprised at the sudden shift from pack to family, he didn’t show it. “Little wolves need their greens,” he shrugged.

“So do little hunters,” Chris responded quietly. “Still, they’re young, they can take it, so can you. I’m probably the one who should be worried.”

“Only if Stiles starts chasing you through Beacon Hills, brandishing salad bowls and low-fat milk, like he does the Sheriff.”

The quiet amusement in Derek’s voice caught Chris off guard — not that he wasn’t familiar with the wolf’s dry humour by now, but the way their evening had been going, he’d not expected this. Laughter came bubbling up from his belly, unstoppable and too good to resist, so he gave up the fight until he was nearly doubled over, hand that wasn’t clutching his plate holding his midriff. Derek looked over at him, mildly bewildered, but Chris could tell he was suppressing a grin, out of uncertainty or embarrassment, Chris didn’t know.

“What?”

“He would, you know. If he thought I was slacking.”

"You're not slacking." Derek’s comment was casual, yet Chris couldn’t help but smirk.

“That came a little quick,” he teased, and Derek froze mid-bite, eyes widening a little. Chris sobered. It wasn’t the first time they… it was what he _would have_ said a week ago, if they’d had this conversation after a pack meeting whilst demolishing the leftovers. Just that this time, it meant something. In the enlightened sense that, it always meant something, they just couldn’t ignore it anymore. Or play it off. Or hide it. “Goddamn,” Chris sighed.

“No, you’re right.” Derek had recovered and finished his pizza. “We gotta keep…” he made a vague circling motion with his hand, “gotta practise that.”

Chris nodded. “I’m just glad we’re used to being in a room alone together. If Peter had been the only pack member available for this, things would have been getting awkward really fast.”

“But you’re getting used to each other being around, right?”

“We are, it’s just… well, I guess I’m always waiting for the other shoe to drop. First, you save my life at the station, then, you try to set me on fire. It wasn’t really you, I know, but… it happened, and we both know why. There’s really not a lot to say after that. I was surprised you wanted us to work together, but I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. But Peter’s my age and, well. We patrol, we hunt, but we don’t exactly talk.”

“Give it time. Peter will one day need you to do something for him. You’ll get a list.”

“Sounds comforting.”

“It shouldn’t.”

Once they’d finished their food, they cleaned up the living room and the kitchen, and Chris got lost in his head a little. They’d done this before, cleaning up after a pack meeting, doing the dishes, throwing take-out boxes in the garbage, working next to and around each other, here at Derek’s loft, at Chris’s apartment, at the Stilinskis’ house, even. Yet now it carried the reminder of domesticity, of doing this together because of who they were, on their own and to each other, and not merely because they happened to be there and the kitchen was a mess. Add to that that Chris was now even more aware of their closeness than he’d already been… no, he wasn’t going down that road.

“How much time do we have?” Derek asked as he dried the plates.

Chris took his time answering, going through the steps in their plan and the kinks that still had to be worked out. “I’d say less than two weeks. Stiles said the goal is to get us settled in by September 4th, but we have to show up before that to look at the house and start moving some of our stuff in… it’s not going to take long.”

Derek nodded, putting the last of the plates away. He turned around, a pensive look on his face that Chris knew well by now. “So where do we start?”

 


	2. What happens in Confidence, stays in Confidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, they won't leave me alone...

Suppressing a sigh, Chris took a step closer to Derek, then another. “We’ll start by paying more attention to what we’ve _been_ doing. And then we keep doing that. Just… more. And with intent.”

“Sounds simple.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not a stirfry. More of a… soufflé.”

“Stiles is the one obsessed with baking, not me.”

Chris raised his eyes to Derek’s. “Then look it up, Hale.”

He wasn’t prepared for the tentative smile that spread over the wolf’s face. “Fine. _Argent_.”

Oh god, they were flirting.

Chris was doing his best to wrestle with his impulses here. “I’m not sure how much the kids think they know, but this means we’re going to have to be very honest with ourselves.”

“I know.”

“We just… gotta do what comes naturally, and follow that to the source. The best thing to do when you’re undercover is to use the truth as your anchor. That way you can’t get lost.”

Derek nodded. Then, he surprised Chris completely by reaching out and brushing the fingers of his right hand against Chris’s left. At Chris’s questioning glance, he shrugged. “Just doing what comes naturally.”

_Merde._

* * *

On the way back from Derek’s loft, Stiles dropped Peter off for a nightly patrol in the woods. “Are you sure you should be doing this alone?”

“It’s been relatively quiet, Stiles. It’s just a patrol, I’m a big boy. You go and get home, have some cocoa and a bed-time story before sleep.”

“Why do you insist on making me feel like a silly little boy with magic powder?” Stiles indicated the glove compartment with a nod of his head, implying the stash of mountain ash Peter really resented having in such close proximity to his best assets.

Nevertheless, he smirked at Stiles as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Because you are, hoodie boy.” With that, he opened the passenger side door and leveraged his tall frame out of the jeep. “Good night, hoodie boy!” he called over his shoulder before vanishing beyond the tree line.

Stiles huffed. “Satan in a V-neck.” He had to hand it to Lydia and Malia, that was the most apt description of the man, ever. Malia hadn’t been able to be at the pack meeting because she’d been cramming for midterms for two weeks now, but he’d promised to call her as soon as he got out, but he hadn’t wanted to give her all the gossip with Peter still next to him, he had far too much fun being melodramatic.

He dialled her number and put his cell on loudspeaker before putting Betty in gear.

 

* * *

 

Lydia had driven herself home after the pack meeting, relieved that her mother was out for the evening — she was good at making up cover stories, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. Her mother was the only one out of the group of parents who didn’t know what was happening to her and the pack. Perhaps she’d never had the heart to tell her, perhaps her mother knew more than she let on but preferred the illusion of ignorance, of being able to close her eyes at night and not wondering who’d be dead by morning, not seeing the faces of ghosts in the shadows of her dreams.

With a sigh, she changed into her comfiest pyjamas — a futile attempt at normalcy, possibly, but a warm one made of cotton. Allison had teased her mercilessly for the plaid pattern, but Lydia had just quipped that she could live with walking around like a walking mockery of Stiles’s stupid shirts in exchange for decent sleep.

“We could use your help on this, Alli,” she spoke into the silence.

 

* * *

 

“Was leaving Derek and Chris alone really a good idea?” Isaac asked Scott and Kira as soon as they had their helmets off. He managed to scamper off the back of Scott’s bike without falling over, this time, and instinctively checked the empty street for shadows that shouldn’t be there.

“Separating them would have been worse,” Scott replied while scrambling for his keys in his backpack. “My mom says once two people who like each other but don’t want to show it get too much time to think, they’ll end up trying to hide it even more.”

“Did she say that about Chris and Derek, specifically?” Isaac asked with a smirk while Kira didn’t bother hiding her grin.

“She might have,” Scott had found his keys and as good as ran towards the house. Kira caught Isaac’s eye before following.

“So you did talk to her about it. I thought you and Stiles didn’t want to get your parents involved,” she quietly asked once Scott had unlocked the door and they’d filed in.

“We don’t. But if anyone can read people, it’s my mom. Now, shh, she’s got the early shift tomorrow.”

Together, they carefully made their way up the stairs and into Scott’s room.

“I meant to ask — why did Lydia only talk about chemistry like that? I know I was too chickenshit to say they’re practically already married, but why understate it like that?” Isaac whispered as he took off his jacket and shoes.

Kira shrugged and sat down on the bed next to Scott. “I think she wanted to go a little easy on them. You know, let them figure it out for themselves? We did put them on the spot, so if they think we don’t speculate as much as we do...”

“They’ll be more comfortable actually working out what’s going on between them,” Scott finished her sentence.

“Yeah. I think Lydia held back because she didn’t want to put them under more pressure than they already feel. Their own expectations, the expectations they _think_ the other is having… we shouldn’t add the pack to that mix.”

“We’re already part of it,” Isaac argued, leaning against Scott’s desk. “We’re their pack, whatever decision they make will automatically affect us.”

“They know that. Trust me, they do,” Scott looked at Isaac with a familiar sadness in his eyes. “A wolf and a hunter… they already know. _Derek_ knows. We can’t pretend we’re not there, but we can keep our noses out of it as much as possible.”

Isaac lowered his eyes, nodding. Scott knew what he wasn’t saying, though. _I just want my family to be ok._

“And then, when this Rugaru thing is over, they can just… be a couple, right?” Kira broke the moment with that hopeful look on her face.

“You know this is usually when Stiles asks you whether you snuck back in line ten times when they were handing out unwarranted optimism, right?”

* * *

The next morning, Stiles got woken up by his phone chiming with three separate texts arriving within no less than five seconds. Wiping his face against the pillow (he didn’t have to check anymore if he drooled throughout the night, he just assumed he did, seventeen years of living with yourself did that to you), he raised his head and squinted at the screen.

 **Scott**  
Whatd ur dad say when u got in?

 **Peter**  
Patrol was uneventful, but I found mountain ash in a place I didn’t like it. Let’s check that out later. Bring your deerstalker.

 **Derek**  
thanks for not mentioning what I told you in your cover story last night

“Ugh.” Stiles turned over, away from the harbingers of real life. Why did he ever check his messages anymore, they just drove the plot along.

After trying to snooze for a couple more minutes, Stiles started paying attention to the noises his dad was making in the kitchen downstairs and decided that he might as well get up. Ugh.

In between brushing his teeth, fishing clean clothes out of his closet, and trying to remember which textbooks he needed for school today, he shot off a quick text to let Scott know his dad hadn’t been in yet when he’d come home last night and he’d been too tired to wait up for him; he messaged Peter to tell him he was Batman, dammit, not Sherlock; and he actually took a moment to compose his message to Derek.

‘hey, happens in Confidence, stays in Confidence ;) besides, it’s pretty convincing all on its own, right?’

Stiles bit his lip before pressing ‘send.’ This was as close as he dared get to telling Derek that he was a dumb butt in love with another dumb butt called Chris. Sometimes, a Stilinski had to embrace his cowardice. Fortified, Stiles bounded downstairs to meet the other Stilinski for breakfast.

“Hey dad, late case?”

“Got a call from next county over, they’ve had a string of burglaries and they finally caught them in the act. The gang split up and they had to chase ‘em, and when some of them were heading towards Beacon Hills, they figured it was easier to call and ask us to to meet them in the middle.”

“Huh. Cool,” Stiles slid into his chair, grabbing the cereal.

“How did the pack meeting go last night?”

“Oh, you know. We told Chris and Derek they had to elope to Vegas and get married, then come back, move into a beautiful house, and catch a potentially serial-killing creature from another realm while holding hands all day.”

“ _Stiles_.”

“Or, something to that effect,” Stiles shrugged.

“How did they react?”

“Well, you know them. Chris tried not to react at all, which tells you exactly what’s going on behind that beard. And Derek… he took it better than I thought. But they were both having trouble looking each other in the eye when we left.”

“They had better stop that if they want to catch the… thingy.”

“The Rugaru, dad.”

“Yeah, that. Think they can do it?”

“Catch the Rugaru? Yeah. Get out of this without somehow convincing themselves that what’s going on is really only a cover? Not so sure.”


	3. Welcome to Suburbia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one night, aren't I spoiling you...

Chris pulled into the driveway, looking up at the house. It was lovely, just as Lydia had said. Well, she’d picked it. A three-story condo, with a new, bright red roof, the facade painted in a muted, but sunny yellow, with white ornaments underneath the windows — lions’ faces. Not quite it, but fitting.

“This is it,” Derek commented from the passenger side, pushing his glasses further up his nose in a vaguely nervous gesture, Chris following the movement unwittingly. They were non-prescription, of course, but Lydia had included them in her style guide, and Malia had urged him to wear them, saying they made him look more trustworthy.

“You mean geeky,” Stiles had supplied from where he was putting books into moving boxes.

“Exactly.” Malia had smiled as though that should answer all questions Derek might have, so he’d just shrugged and put them on. Chris had carefully not said a word.

“This is it,” Chris replied in kind, squirming a little in his seat but not moving to unbuckle. Instead, he went with his impulses, leaning over to (very quickly) kiss Derek on the cheek. He observed how Derek managed not to look surprised and nodded in approval. “Ready?”

Derek took a deep breath, a small smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “Ready.”

Together, they got out of the SUV and walked up to the porch, just as the moving company’s van pulled up behind them. Peter and Stiles had somehow pressganged the realtor into supplying them with all the basic — but no less expensive — furniture they needed, but they had arranged to have their personal belongings delivered the day they were officially making an appearance. It was a Saturday, so presumably most of the neighbourhood was home to witness their little spectacle.

“Welcome to Suburbia,” Derek muttered under his breath.

 

* * *

 

Over the course of the afternoon, several couples had come over to welcome them.

Marcus, 27, and Peter, 41, both doctors. Lilian, 40, and Erik, 26, lawyer and engineering grad student. Jack, 57, and Rose, 30, lawyer and event planner. Fran, 50, and Lucille, 35, day care nurse and Physics professor. They all had come bearing gifts — muffins, pasta salad, homemade bread, apple pie — and extended invitations to the next neighbourhood potluck and/or barbecue, the plans weren’t definitive yet.

“You need anything, just give us a yell!” Lucille had them promise, twice, before meandering back next door with Fran.

“They do all seem very nice and wholesome,” Derek mumbled around a mouthful of pasta salad.

“And the neighbourhood certainly seems inclusive,” Chris agreed while grabbing a plate from a kitchen cupboard and unceremoniously setting it down between Derek’s travelling fork and the bowl Erik had handed over just ten minutes earlier. “Now let’s find out which one of them is a flesh-eating monster.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re not sleeping on the couch downstairs, Chris,” Derek said in his best stern voice that sounded least like he was scolding one of the pups. Chris took a step towards the staircase leading upstairs. “You’re not sleeping in the guest room either.” At Chris’s exasperated look, he raised his arms. “We’ve had this discussion yesterday, remember? It’s not even about the neighbours seeing the lights going on and off, it’s about us sharing space. We have to be comfortable with each other, move around each other.”

“We already are,” Chris argued.

“We’re also pack, Chris. There’s more to it than proximity. For me, it’s also about scent. I can’t behave the way the cover needs us to if we don’t share enough space. It’s already tough for me to pretend because our pack bond hasn’t officially changed, it’ll be even worse if you don’t even smell like me.”

“They won’t know that,” Chris countered, knowing how unkind that was to say.

“No, but I will. And they’ll know something’s wrong, at least. Plus,” Derek continued, playing his last card, “the Rugaru might. I don’t know what their track record with humans scents is, but we can’t risk it.”

At that, Chris’s shoulders dropped. “You’re right, you’re right, I know you’re right.”

“Come to bed, then.”

Feeling the warmth of Chris’s body travelling through the sheets and covers around them was too little, too much, and definitely painful. Derek lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.

Chris, next to him, was doing the same. It wasn’t like this was the first time they’d shared resting space — there’d been many, many pack piles in the past, with pups sprawled on top of and around them on the couch in Derek’s loft while watching movies. And then, there’d been that time when a very, very angry mob of pixies had knocked Chris out cold during a patrol, leaving him unconscious in the forest for hours before Derek and Peter had finally found him. They’d dragged him to Derek’s loft, Peter immediately running off again to wake up Stiles and shanghai him into researching the new apparent threat and what they possibly could have done to Chris, just in case he didn’t wake up soon. The forest of Beacon Hills did get cold at night, and Derek had unceremoniously saved Chris from hypothermia by wrapping him up in blankets and then wrapping _himself_ around the hunter. Chris had woken up just after sunrise, swaddled in blankets and a lightly snoring wolf, and it had _not_ helped his highly problematic regard for the young Hale. He knew just as well that Derek’s actions had as much to do with the need to keep his pack safe as with anything he might feel about Chris himself, to be near any of them when something was wrong was something that defined Derek, but his insides hadn’t eased up on the clenching, anyway.

Derek shifted onto his right side, facing Chris. Taking that as his cue, Chris turned as well. They could just about see each other’s faces in the light from outside — street lamps, neighbouring houses, and not least the moon, half-full. _Just do what comes naturally_ , Derek reminded himself of Chris’s words as he reached out, touching the hand Chris had laid between their pillows as he’d turned.

During the few weeks they’d had to prepare, they’d become more deliberate with contact. Where there’d been fleeting, almost covert, touches before — Derek’s hand on Chris’s arm as he alerted him to something when they patrolled, Chris’s hand on Derek’s shoulder as he leaned over to help deciphering a passage in the Argent beastiary, their fingers brushing during pack meetings just because they could — they now lingered. Derek kept his hand on Chris’s neck for what felt like forever after a hunt, Chris splayed his fingers over the small of Derek’s back when moving past him in the library. Seeing as they were pack and both very physical people, they had less trouble adjusting their personal space — they’d barely had any left to begin with, they’d realised with some trepidation and much to Lydia’s amusement. So when Derek had looked for a specific book on ancient runes in the library and Chris had stepped up behind him and Derek could feel his chest brushing up against his back with each breath, Derek had had to remind himself that that wasn’t the first time he had to get his own breathing back under control _and_ a delicate situation in his pants.

Chris had started the kisses. Just short, chaste pecks on the cheek, once even on the tip of his nose, but the first time Derek had actually nearly dropped his coffee mug. It had taken him three days to work up the courage to press a kiss to Chris’s jaw, his nose brushing the stubble on his cheek. After that, he’d wanted to do it again and again. Stiles had advised him to go beat his head against a wall until the feeling went away. Derek had doubts about the method, seeing as he hadn’t been able to stop looking at Chris’s mouth ever since. Well, he’d had trouble before, but now it was near _constant_ and Derek was ready to forge himself a passport and skip the country. They had yet to kiss each other on the lips, and Derek was glad of it — until he wasn’t. Until all he wanted was to pull Chris in and show him. Derek marvelled at how some things were even easier to just _think_ about when everything was dark and quiet and Chris was slowly falling asleep.

Coming to his senses and realising that he was still brushing the tips of fingers across the back of Chris’s hand, he moved to pull his back, but Chris had amazing reflexes for a human, and certainly for a human who was on the edge of unconsciousness from sheer exhaustion.

“Just go with it,” he mumbled, lightly threading Derek’s fingers with his, letting their joined hands come to rest on the mattress between them. “Just go with it.”

 


	4. The First Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Chris go for a run and put on a show. Sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So *laughs hysterically* it's been two and a half years and, uh, I haven't watched the show in ages, so this is sort of set around the beginning of Season 4 and quite frankly, I don't give a damn.
> 
> Shoutout to Kamalika for commenting on this mess literally while I was clawing my way back into these characters' heads and getting dangerously close to giving up. You saved this one <3
> 
> Updates will come about every month or so, so stay tuned if this one catches your fancy.

The next morning, Derek woke before Chris. They were still in pretty much the same position as when they'd fallen asleep, their hands still loosely joined on top of the sheets. Derek hardly dared study Chris' face so close, but he couldn't help himself. It was a face he knew, a very nice face, he admitted to himself, and for all that he'd seen Chris asleep (or unconscious) fairly often in the past, it felt like it was the first time he was really seeing him.

For all that he’d fallen asleep wanting to kiss him and blamed it on the cover of darkness and the secrets it made seem so much more harmless than they truly were, sleeping through the night hadn’t left him feeling any saner. Wanting to lay one on Chris Argent, of all people, was not a harmless secret, as much as it still was one. They had both – sort of, more or less, _somehow_ – acknowledged that there was… something. Chris had as good as admitted it, anyway, and Derek hadn’t exactly protested.

“Just don’t go and convince yourself it’s not real,” was the last thing Stiles had wanted to say on the subject the day before Chris and Derek had prepared to ‘move in.’ “Just because it’s… too soon and not at your own pace, doesn’t mean it won’t work out.”

Derek hadn’t shared this snippet of conversation with Chris, however. The words ‘too soon’ were stuck in his mind. He knew what Stiles meant – but what would have been the right time? When, if ever, would he have had the courage to do anything more than flirt uselessly? When would Chris?

In that sense, Derek wasn’t worried about it not being real – he was afraid it would be _too real_. He was afraid Chris would twist away from him, confined in this forced domesticity, remembering his dead wife and the daughter he’d lost; and push Derek away when the pain became too much. Derek’s mouth turned down when he realised he wasn’t afraid of it not working out, of them discovering they weren’t as close as they thought, or realising the feelings didn’t run deep enough, of arguing and growing apart even as they lived under the same roof. He was scared it would work out too well.

“You’re thinking way too loudly,” a sleep-rough voice shook him from his thoughts, and Derek’s eyes snapped back to Chris’ face. His blue eyes were open, if bleary, and the hint of a smile was tugging at his lips. “Better. All quiet now. Guess I still got it.”

Derek caught on eventually. He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not _that_ handsome first thing in the morning.”

“But I _am_ handsome first thing in the morning,” Chris rumbled in reply as the smile morphed into a smirk.

Derek huffed a breath, but was cut off by Chris leaning into his space to brush a kiss against his jaw. “Good morning.” Chris pulled back, but stayed close, and Derek held his gaze, unable to look away. So they stayed put, looking into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Derek couldn’t move. Wanted to, to dart forward and _take_ , wanted to—

“I’ll start breakfast.” With one last guarded glance, Chris slid his hand out from under Derek’s and rolled away, throwing back the blanket to get out of bed. Derek remained, unmoving, until he heard the bedroom door close softly, then he turned onto his stomach and buried his face in the pillows, stifling a groan.

He’d waited too long.

Story of his fucking _life_.

Had Chris really… been waiting for Derek to kiss him? Turning onto his back, Derek stared at the ceiling for a good few minutes, knowing he had maybe ten more to get his ass downstairs before Chris kicked him out of bed, and none too gently either.

With a sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The rug on top of the hardwood flooring was fluffy and surprisingly soft under his feet. He spared a fleeting thought thanking Lydia for being so considerate, then he heaved himself up and stood on his toes to stretch. Quickly changing into fresh clothes, he had no more chance to stall for time.

Derek made his way downstairs and followed the sounds of Chris puttering around in the kitchen. Rounding the corner and coming to stand in the doorway, he paused. Chris hadn’t bothered sorting out his bedhead hair, so the short strands at the back of his head were standing up at funny angles, and Derek couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t want to brush his hands through it, or over the salt and pepper of his beard.

Chris had no doubt noticed him coming closer, but he was paying him no mind, instead continuing with what looked like bacon and eggs in a skillet. There was French toast on the grill attached to the stove, too, and Derek felt his cheeks heat up. His favourite.

Pushing off the doorframe, he finally ventured closer, closer all the way into Chris’ space. Then he waited. Flipping the bacon expertly, Chris eventually looked up at him. Derek suppressed a wince at the way his expression was less closed off than it had been when he got up, but still guarded. Less out of hurt than out of apprehension, Derek hoped, but it still pained him to have put it there.

Chris was still staring at him, waiting. Attempting a small smile to put him at ease, Derek took another step closer, then leaned forward slowly, and couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering down towards Chris’ mouth. When Chris didn’t move, didn’t back away, Derek simply closed the remaining distance between them and brushed his lips against Chris’. They were dry and soft, stubble was tickling his upper lip, and Derek had to fight the impulse to press closer. Instead, he pulled away after he felt the barest pressure of Chris kissing him back.

Leaning back but staying close to Chris, Derek’s smile widened. “Good morning,” and right now he was ready to forget everything about why there were here, why there were stuck in goddamn suburbia in the first place.

The tension seemed to melt from Chris’ shoulders, and Derek decided he didn’t need to know what exactly had gone wrong earlier as long as Chris kept looking at him just like this.

“Thought I’d been too forward earlier,” Chris surprised him by explaining anyway, and Derek could only shake his head. So that’s what the face had been for – he thought he’d ruined it. Derek shook his head.

“You’ve kissed my cheek before,” he tried to reassure him.

Chris’ gaze turned away, but returned to him by way of checking on the bacon. “Not while sharing a bed,” he reminded Derek, a warning and a challenge all at once, and _how did he do that with his voice?_ Derek felt a shiver run up and down his spine.

Before he could say anything, however – or _do_ anything, such as move in for another kiss, if he ever worked up the courage in time – Chris turned back to the stove and declared the bacon and eggs done and breakfast ready. He scooped sizeable helpings onto two plates, which he pressed into Derek’s hands, and then did the same with the toast. Carrying their bounty to the table, Derek found two mugs of steaming coffee waiting for them, and had to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying something stupid.

 

* * *

 

 

Lydia snatched the phone from Scott’s hands and glared at him. “We are _not_ calling them.”

Scott actually had the nerve to _pout_. “We need to know they’re safe, they didn’t check in last night. It’s not like either Chris or Derek to forget something like that.”

“Derek texted me, Scott,” Stiles reminded him. “Sure, we said they should call at least every other night, but I’m pretty sure that counts as checking in.”

“And it’s entirely like Chris or my dear nephew to forget everything else around them when they’re alone with each other,” Peter added smugly, coming to stand behind where Stiles was sitting on the couch. “They’re fine,” he admonished when Scott turned his patented werewolf puppy eyes on him. “I’ll admit I’m not the most sympathetic with their plight of making googly eyes and dancing around each other, but even I know that being shoved together like that is gonna be a lot to digest. And speaking of digesting, they’re probably having their first ridiculously romantic breakfast right now, so leave them.. in peace.”

Stiles turned in his seat, craning his neck to look up at Peter. “That’s the most words I’ve heard you string together talking about other people’s feelings. Or possibly ever.”

Peter sneered. “Your point?”

Stiles smiled cruelly. “It’s almost like you care.” Smirk morphing into a grin when Peter scoffed and turned to disappear into the loft’s kitchen area, Stiles took it that he won this round. Ever since they’d checked out the traces of mountain ash Peter had found at the edge of the forest and Stiles had concluded that it was mostly harmless due to the lack of any residual magic or spark, he’d started teasing the wolf about being a worrywart – Peter hadn’t taken to that kindly.

“Peter’s not wrong,” Lydia brought the conversation back on track with a pointed look at Stiles. “We need to give them space, at least until this evening.”

“Derek’s text said they were going to explore the neighbourhood today,” Kira jumped in. “Go for a run, probably, there’s a park nearby. They can snoop around a little, see if they find traces of any non-human presence. They’ll have more to tell us by tonight, anyway.”

Recognising when he was outnumbered, for once, Scott huffed. “Alright. Can I have my phone back?”

 

* * *

 

 

Returning from their run, Derek did his best at a passable impression of someone who was actually winded after running at a steady pace for five miles. Beside him, Chris was selling it a lot better than he was, and Derek couldn’t help but let his eyes stray and follow the beads of sweat rolling down Chris’ throat, down towards the neck of his t-shirt.

“Let’s get inside,” Chris rasped, and Derek’s gaze snapped back up to his face. Any worries at being caught out were dispelled at the fact that Chris seemed content to _wink_ at him. “Shoo,” Chris made the appropriate motions with his hands, and Derek hurried to wrangle his set of keys from the pocket of his running pants and unlock the door.

They’d made sure to be visible enough on their run as to avoid arousing suspicion, but they’d also taken enough sneaky routes to find as many nooks and crannies as they could – just in case. Stopping as Erik waved at them from across the road, they’d had a chat with him across the garden fence. Thankfully, their cover included a month’s time until they both started new jobs in the city, so they were free to spend time around the neighbourhood – more specifically, time during which everyone else would be at work.

At some point during the conversation, Derek had deflected a question as to why they weren’t spending at least two of the remaining weeks on vacation rather than here rather badly, and to save the situation, Chris had stepped even closer and wrapped his arm around Derek’s waist, drawing him flush against his body and replied something vaguely suggestive that had Erik chuckle at them warmly (and blush only a little). Derek had been so distracted by the heat of Chris’ side against his that he’d had to make a mental note to ask Chris what he’d actually said later – in case Erik mentioned it to tease them somewhere down the line.

That same warmth was crowding against him now as they stepped into the den, and Derek was about to turn and raise his eyebrows at Chris’ behaviour when he spotted Rose on the sidewalk just outside their driveway. Gazing quizzically at Chris, he let himself be grasped by the hip and manhandled through the front door, remembering at the last moment to put his hands on Chris’ shoulders to steady himself – to pull him closer was probably what it looked like to Rose. Once they were inside, Chris pushed the door closed reaching behind himself with his free hand.

Reluctant to let go right away, Derek left his hands where they were and, now, did raise a brow. “Having fun?”

“Just enough,” Chris replied, and Derek had to fight the smile trying to work its way onto his face.

“Funny man,” he gruffed, swallowing his disappointment when Chris let go of his hip and stepped away, letting Derek’s hands slip from his shoulders.

“Funny man needs a shower. Race you!” And with that, he did, in fact, take off down the hall. Watching his retreating back with a bemused expression, Derek called, “We have two en-suite bathrooms, you know,” after him, not that Chris seemed to care, judging by the stomping up the stairs.

With a sigh, Derek followed him upstairs. He’d take the other bathroom, then, but he did need clean clothes from the bedroom closet first. If he’d subconsciously hoped that Chris would already be in the shower by the time he arrived upstairs if he kept a leisurely pace, he was disappointed.

The sight that met him when he stepped into the bedroom was Chris, topless, with his back to him, rooting through one of the dressers for ( _oh god_ ), clean underwear. Not that this was the first time he’d seen Chris with his clothes more off than on, but they weren’t usually alone. Chris’ admission from earlier that morning came back to him, and Derek felt his mouth go dry. Knowing he’d have to say something before things got… more awkward, he cleared his throat. Chris didn’t turn, but glanced at him over his shoulder.

“I’ll use the shower in the guest bedroom,” Derek murmured, finally forcing himself to move towards the dresser next to Chris, taking out his own clothes.

“Early lunch when we’re done?” was all Chris said in reply, and Derek was thankful there wasn’t more teasing. “We can mark everything that we found on the map. You texted Stiles last night, right?”

“Yeah, he knows what we’ve been up to,” Derek bit his lip once he realised how _that_ sounded, but decided to continue rather than backpedal and call even more attention to it. “They’ll expect us to call tonight.”

Chris nodded. “I got a text from Scott reminding me, before we left for our run.”

Derek snorted softly. “He must have wrestled his phone away from Lydia, then.” He felt Chris step close to him again.

“See you in a minute,” he felt Chris’ breath brush against his cheek, and then another kiss was pressed against his jaw. As Chris walked away, Derek stayed where he was, closing his eyes to keep his breathing even. Gritting his teeth against the familiar sensation, he turned and followed Chris, who was halfway to the bathroom.  Hand closing around Chris’ elbow gently, he tugged him back. Chris turned, and Derek retaliated by nosing at his temple.

“Can’t always let you have the last word,” he murmured at Chris’ surprised expression, then let go and quickly left the room before he could be denied the privilege. On his way down the hall, his enhanced senses allowed him to hear Chris softly snorting to himself.


End file.
